Embrace Another Fall
by TheHMMWV
Summary: When a few lifetimes of pain and regret come back to haunt him, Hook comes to realize he might not be able to cheat death yet again. Not alone, anyway. And maybe an old enemy has found a new way to destroy him, even from afar.
1. Chapter 1

**Author's note:** So this idea has been bugging me for a while, so I thought, why not give it a shot. The thing is, I don't have everything mapped out, and I don't know if it's actually worth continuing. But I'd love to hear your thoughts on it, and I'll try to whip up a second chapter soon, which will hopefully be a bit longer.

**Just a note, this takes place a few weeks after "Heroes and Villains", after Rumplestinskin's banishment from Storybrooke, and disregards his actions after that. So no evil witch trio will appear in this story.**

Enjoy, and if you feel like it, tell me what you think! :)

**Edited, 01.01.2015:** I just realized, there's no more Jolly Roger in the fourth season, so I had to change that bit. For now, this is A ship, I'll have to give it a bit more attention later on.

…

_She's standing on the deck, long hair flowing freely down her back. She's looking down at him, smiling. Milah's hand comes up, finger curling. There's this wild spark in her eyes as she waits for him. _

_Killian Jones, standing on the dock, twenty feet from the Jolly Roger, doesn't hear them approach. He sees it at the same time he feels hands on him, a dark shadow over Milah's shoulder. He tries to move, but his arms get pulled behind his back. She's shouting his name, sword already drawn. He opens his mouth to warn her, tell her to turn around. One of the men holding him drives his knee in his stomach, and he can't breathe. His lips are still moving, but his warning is barely a whisper. The shadow is right behind her. Killian struggles harder, desperate. The grip on his arms intensifies, and they start dragging him away. He feels his shoulder dislocate, grits his teeth._

"_Killian!" She's running down the steps, sword in hand, resolve on her face. He thinks, she's so beautiful._

_He kicks back, hears something brake. His arms are suddenly free and he doesn't look back, doesn't waste any time. He runs to her, heart going wild in his chest. She's barely ten feet away, but the shadow is suddenly between them, and it's not really a shadow. It's the cowardly husband, except he doesn't seem fearful at all. He doesn't seem human. _

_It all happens at once. The raw scream that rips his throat to shreds mixes with Rumplestinskin's sick cackle and his hand is in Milah's chest._

"_No, nono! Stop!" Killian doesn't realize he's falling until his face is buried in the ground. There's someone on his back, holding him down. His shoulder's on fire. He fights for all he's worth, but can manage to loosen the hold just enough to turn his head, look at her._

_Her eyes are wide, surprised. As if she hasn't yet noticed her heart is no longer where it should be. And no, no, it's not fair, it's- He can't-_

"_I-" But Rumplestinskin doesn't let her finish, doesn't even give them a goodbye._

"_NO!" He doesn't notice breaking two fingers in his struggle. He doesn't care. "Milah!"_

_But it's too late, and there's dust seeping through Rumplestinskin's fingers. It's her heart, and it's too late. It's-_

_The world stops._

_He can't breathe. _

_Her body falls._

"_This is on you." _

_And with that they're gone, all of them._

He wakes up screaming. "No, Mil-" A dream, it was a dream. His body goes slack against the mattress, eyes closed. A nightmare.

And that's when it finally registers, the pain. It's still dark in the captain's quarters, so it takes Hook a few moments to realize why his right hand looks off. Two of his fingers are bent in a way that shouldn't be possible, and when he tries moving them, everything goes black for a second.

There are no mirrors on the ship, but Hook doesn't need one to see the bruises that splatter his torso.

The thing is, Storybrooke's been calm for a few weeks now. The thing is, there were no fights. The thing is, when he went to bed last night, there wasn't a scratch on him.

"Oh bloody hell."

...

**A/N: **The title was taken from Robert Plant's song "Embrace another fall", from the album "Lullaby and... The Ceaseless Roar", released on 8 September 2014. Give it a shot, the song's really good. :)


	2. Chapter 2

**Author's note: **So I'm not sure I like how this turned out. I'm sorry for the wait, if anyone was waiting, but I've been hitting a brick wall after every sentence for a while. Hopefully, this doesn't suck as much as I think it does, right now.

Anyway, read, enjoy, tell me what you think if you find the time, and do you think the story benefits more from dreams or reality?

Happy New Year everyone, it's gonna be a wild one! :)

…

"What happened?" If he tries hard enough, he can hear a trace of anger in her voice, hidden under layers of surprise. It's strange, after all the time he spent alone. He's still not quite used to it, having someone care about him. Having someone be angry at his getting hurt. It's been so long.

"I-

I'm not sure." It's a quiet evening, just like the one before. Dr. Whale didn't even ask, and if he had, a bar fight would have been convincing enough. He doesn't want to lie to Emma though.

"I think I dreamed it." And even to his own ears, it sounds crazy.

"You dreamed…

What?" And there it is, that comically disbelieving look spreading through her eyes.

"That's not…" _Possible?_ Emma thinks, can she even say that, anymore?

That night, she stays.

He protests the intention, he's a grown man. He doesn't need her watching over him. But the truth is, he doesn't want her to see. Asleep, he can't pretend, can't tease, can't smirk and say something inappropriate. Asleep, he's an open book. It almost makes his skin crawl, but then he looks at her, bites back the urge to hide. Some habits are hard to break, especially when you've been nursing them for as long as he has, but, he knows now, there's nothing he wouldn't do for her.

That night, she stays.

Sleep doesn't come easily.

_This time, he knows it's a dream. _

_It's early morning and Granny's smells of fresh coffee. There's a cup in his hand and someone's sitting in a booth behind him, the person's elbow touching his shoulder. He almost doesn't notice any of these things._

_He can't look away. _

_Liam pauses, brows drawing together. "Is something wrong?"_

_God, he hasn't heard that voice since…_

_There's this overwhelming urge to wrap his arms around his brother and not let go, but his frozen to the spot._

_He manages a nod. A second later, a smile. For a moment, everything's right with the world._

"_Liam."_

Emma almost dozes off on a chair, pulled up next to the bed. A whispered "Liam" has her wide awake. She feels something tighten painfully in her chest at the soft expression on Hook's face. It's something she hasn't seen yet. She think, is this what Killian Jones, a navy officer, looked like. There's a smile curving his lips and she allows herself to hope. Maybe nothing will happen.

_Killian doesn't realize right away the two of them are suddenly alone in the coffee shop. He doesn't care, as long as he has his brother sitting across from him._

_The reality twists quicker than he can react, the wooden table extending newly born arms that wrap around his hands. The floor is quicksand underneath him, and then it's not, leaving his feet trapped in solid ground. Killian looks at his brother, eyes wide and terrified, and Liam doesn't see anything, he realizes. He's still talking, still sipping his coffee. He wants to scream, tell him to run. He knows it's futile, just as he knows his struggling is futile, but he can't stop. Can't just give up. He wants to scream 'no!' and 'run!' and 'you can't do this!' but his jaw is locked tight and all that comes out is a pained growl as he rubs his wrists raw. And Liam doesn't see, doesn't hear a thing._

_Rumplestinskin's breath on his face makes his skin crawl. He feels sick. _

"_Watch this, dearie." And he can't help but comply, his eyes glued to Liam's face, mind working frantically to memorize every line, every feature, as a dreamshade thorn imbeds itself in his chest._

_Killian isn't sure if he's crying, but he might be because everything's blurry._

_And he's suddenly free and Liam's looking at him, and before he can stand up and go to him Liam's saying "Why didn't you stop him" and Liam's saying "Why?" and Liam's falling down._

_There's that sick cackle again and- _

"_This one's on you."_

_-and he's screaming, and it's too late._

But it does. Something always happens. The peace on his face gets swiped away so quickly it makes her wonder if it was ever there. If maybe, it was just her wishful thinking. And then he's fighting something she can't see and she hesitates, just for a moment. At the sound he makes, she wills her eyes not to go to his face.

Emma is strong, but restraining him completely proves to be impossible. Asleep, he's fighting as if his life depended on it. And the thing is, it scares her, and the thing is, maybe it does.

She almost misses it, the way the skin just above his bandaged hand starts turning red. She has him pinned underneath her, and there's nothing there. Her stomach turns as she watches, out of nowhere, small cuts appear on his wrist that proceed to grow, turning to tears. His other wrist is hidden by the brace, but there's blood slowly gathering at it's edges.

She's distracted, lets up her grip on him just a bit. It's enough though, enough for him to wrench his slung arm away. Sharp pain radiates down her right side as the hook catches her collarbone.

A scream pulls her attention from the bleeding cut on her chest and she thinks, the human throat isn't supposed to make that sound. But his body stills underneath her, arm falling uselessly to his side. When she looks at his face his eyes are open and he's crying. She feels the world tilt on it's axis and he's crying. Aside from the lifeless body of her son, Emma has never witnessed something so… wrong.

A litany of "I'm sorry"s falls from his lips jumbled and almost inaudible. She doesn't quite want to know. She doesn't ask, doesn't say anything when he finally seems to realize she's there, still straddling him, still gripping his right arm.

In a nearly delirious state, he still manages to connect the dots. The blood on her chest, the stain growing slowly. The blood on his hook.

He looses his lunch, body twisted painfully over the edge of the bed, half of him still trapped under the blonde.

It's too much. It's all too much and for once, Captain Hook vacates the premises. And all that's left behind is a shaking, sobbing boy who's lived too long.

Emma doesn't sleep that night.


	3. Chapter 3

**Author's note:** So I feel like I pulled this one out of my ass... When I read it over it feels jumbled and inconsistent, but maybe that's because it's past three in the morning.

It turned out shorter than I intended, and covered a lot less. Hopefully I'll manage to get the story going in the next chapter.

I want to thank anyone who read, and especially reviewed, because it's always nice to hear from you :) Makes me sit my ass down and write something, otherwise I'm not very persistent. Usually when I hit a bump I move on to the next thing. So, read, enjoy, leave me your thoughts if you find the time! :)

…

By the time light filters through the curtains, his eyes are red and burning. Both dreams have been replaying in his mind over and over and over again until they mixed and blended and he can't lay there any longer. Emma, her arms still wrapped around him, pressed against his back, is dozing. Not quite asleep, not quite awake.

He breathes, and it hurts. His body too. Shame seeps through his veins, the guilt at hurting her.

The cabin smells of rum and vomit, wind seeping in through the wooden boards and she's warm against him, a living breathing sea. Powerful and there. Like the sea's always been. He wants to lose himself in her, wants a reprieve from his thoughts. From himself.

He finally finds the strength to pull himself up, and he does so slowly, trying not to jostle her too much. Exhaustion makes him sway on his feet, if for a moment, and then he's just standing there, not quite sure what he ever did to deserve this. The dreams, the pain, he thinks with a bitter smile, he knows he had those coming. But the messy blonde hair, the soft, parted lips, the bright brown eyes he knows are hidden beneath those eyelids. In his bed. He thinks of Baelfire and wishes he didn't. He doesn't know what he did to deserve her.

Pulling up a blanket isn't much of a task. With only one hand and three working fingers, Hook has to bite back a groan of frustration. Pulling up a blanket _shouldn't be_ much of a task.

Emma curls up in it and the irritation gives way to something else. Hook quickly puts out the tiny spark in his chest, not yet ready to give up on his misery.

He knows that he'll have to pull himself together, grit his teeth and keep going, for bother their sakes. But she's finally asleep and he has a little time left.

There's a bottle in his hand when he leaves the cabin as quietly as he can manage.

…

Out on the deck, it's cold. The sky is grey, dark clouds flowing overhead and beneath his feet, reflected in the restless water. Balancing his weight on the bowsprit, a bottle of rum in hand, awkwardly held by just three fingers, he wants the Jolly Roger back.

More than sees, he feels her come to stand behind him.

"It's him." Her eyebrows go one floor up, but she waits for him to continue.

"Rumplestinskin." And his voice is a low growl of a wolf and a hunter.

"How do you-"

"I know!" He barks, she steps back. His shoulders sag. "The crocodile doesn't give up, lass."

She takes the bottle, takes a swig. Coughs.

"This is vile."

He turns around, laughs at the expression on her face. "My brand of poison."

_Like a poison that I swallow, but I want the world to die._

…

"Was it her?" Voice low, careful, Emma hates the feeling of taking to a frightened child. She knows he's not one, but the image and feel of him shivering against her, masks and all pretense gone, is still to fresh in her mind.

She thinks, there's a reason people don't live forever.

She thinks, they aren't built for it.

She thinks, three hundred years of pain is a ton of brick on your chest.

Missing the tension that creeps up his spine, she watches the clouds glide over his head.

"No…" The bowsprit creeks under him, and the sound is strange. It's not the Jolly's bowsprit, it's not _his_ bowsprit. It's not home.

"No, Liam. This time, he killed my brother." And old anger rises steadily in his chest, drowning out the hurt and sadness. It's a relief, almost, a feeling he's grown used to. Anger's what had driven him for so long.

Despite broken fingers and an unsteady shoulder, his movements are fluid as he gets off of the bowsprit and jumps back on the deck. A pirate to the core, Emma muses, then shakes her head, a smile managing to sneak past her. She knows better, now. Nevertheless, she seeks out his eyes and finds _Captain Hook_ looking back at her.

For all the times she wished he'd drop the act, now it was a relief. It's easier to cope with a pirate captain out for blood than a-

and it feels wrong to connect the word to the man before her

-a broken human being. With sharp edges on both sides, cutting both in and out, and she pulls the sweater tighter around her, hiding the blood stain on her chest. But that's not the kind of hurt she's scared of.

And Emma swallows down the shame at her own selfishness. She makes a promise, if only to herself, that she won't let it go on forever. She's just being practical.

The practical Sheriff Swan says, "Alright, let's go visit Regina." And at the confused look he gives her, "If this is a curse of some sort, she's our best chance."

**A/N: **And I forgot to mention, the line "_Like a poison that I swallow, but I want the world to die." _comes from Metallica's song That was just your life. I usually don't like including lyrics in my stories, but this one was just too tempting.


	4. Chapter 4

**Author's note:** And here's another one, sorry for how long it took me! I blame the delay partially on the exams and partially on the lack of inspiration. Well, no, I've been inspired. To go out, learn to pick a lock, draw, play cards etc. I've re-learned Morse code, but I couldn't sit down and write. Till now, apparently.

Anyway, I would like to thank everyone who has read (and reviewed) this story, I hope you keep reading and tell me what you think! I don't know if it's noticeable, but English isn't my first language, so if I mess something up, big or small, feel free to point it out so I can fix it and learn.

I hope you enjoy! :)

…

"What if she can't help? My mom?" It's late in the afternoon and Henry's question comes out as a whisper. He almost doesn't say it, but he knows he's voicing the thing they are both thinking. He's sitting by a window, Killian at his side, watching the storm build. It's too dark for that time of day. He can see his moms' reflections, seated at the other end of the room. It seems like they haven't moved for hours, each bent over a book. Every now and then, one would say something, pages would be rifled through, things pointed out, theories exchanged. So far, every would be breakthrough has ended with a frustrated sigh and occasionally the sound of a book being slammed against wood.

Henry almost doesn't say it, because the man next to him has been going back and forth, from broken to vengeful, his resolve wavering and the mask falling of, just for him to put it back on. Henry doesn't understand and he doesn't know what to do, and a part of him hates it. Another part of him, the one he tries not to acknowledge because it feels selfish, is glad. Because he has nightmares, maybe more of them than a kid his age has a right to, but he always gets to wake up. He always gets back the family he looses during the night, and he doesn't want to know what it's like to dream of ghosts.

The question's a whisper and Hook almost misses it, but it has a will of it's own and it penetrates the fog surrounding him. Had Henry asked him that two days ago, when he'd first come here with Emma, Hook would have done his best to reassure the lad. A smile might not have been as easy as it usually was, but it would've been there. Now, he's not sure he could manage it, and he doesn't try. He's been using his three good fingers to rub his shoulder, a temporary habit picked up after he'd dislocated it. It doesn't hurt anymore, unless a finger is jabbed in the right spot, which he now does. The pain flares up, spreads down his arm and dies down to a dull throb in a matter of seconds, but it clears his head a bit. Hook wonders, how long before that technique stops working.

"I don't know, lad. Let's hope she can." It's a weak answer and he knows it, but two days of no sleep have left him dazed. Not thinking about the very real possibility that Regina might not be able to do anything, proves to be a challenge.

It's been little over forty eight hours since they've come to Regina's house, looking for help. A little over forty eight hours of going through stack upon stack of books, of calling anyone and everyone who's ever dabbled in magic. The only thing they've got so far is that it's definitely a curse.

"Tell me about him?"

It's not the words themselves that catch Hook off guard, it's the almost shy tone with which they are spoken, so unlike the lad. He's really awake for the first time in hours as he looks at Henry, no explanation needed who he's asking about. He's tempted to just brush it off, but the soft expression on the boy's face is laced with genuine curiosity, and Killian thinks how he's the only living person who knows how Liam Jones talked, how he moved, how he protected his little brother and how much larger than life he was, standing on the deck of his ship. There are people who know the story of his death, but Killian doesn't want the memory of his brother to die with him.

He says, "When we were kids, we _borrowed_ a boat…"

He says, "Liam hated apples…"

He says, "Liam was the bravest man I know…"

He says, "He never got to fall in love…"

And the memories are so bittersweet Killian almost chokes on his words.

"He would be proud of you." Henry doesn't have to think about it. He's surprised when Killian smiles, a barely there curve of lips that's painful to see, and says with no doubt in his voice,

"No lad, he wouldn't be." Liam would love him despite three hundred years of piracy. But his brother was an honorable man.

"The things I've done… It wasn't good form." His eyes slip shut so he doesn't see Henry get ready to protest, but it's just as well because he doesn't get a chance.

"Hey." Emma is crouching in from of Hook, and he must be farther gone than he'd thought because he hadn't even noticed her approach. Henry isn't sitting in the chair next to him anymore, and he wonders if he's starting to lose time.

"Are you ready to reconsider?" She tries not to think of what she's actually asking him to do. Tries not to think of the look on his face when she'd first suggested it.

"_Don't fight." It's a plea, but Killian looks at her like she'd slapped him. _

"_Next time it might be more than a few broken fingers and a dislocated shoulder." It's a reasonable request, Emma knows, but somehow it still feels like she's betraying him._

_It takes an hour of talking that proves to be useless for her to finally snap._

"_They're gone, Killian! And if you keep fighting to protect the dead, you just might join them!" It had to be said, but she wishes she didn't have to be the one to say it. Because she wishes she didn't have to bare witness to the pain that flashes in his eyes._

"_I don't want to lose you." She looses the fight, and tears fall._

_So he decides not to sleep._

"You can't go on like this forever."

"I can't do it, love. Can't just sit back and watch them die." Killian wants to unsee the desperation that briefly shows on her face. But she's asking him to make an impossible choice.

"No. No, I guess you can't." She wants to scream.

"We'll find a way." Emma tries not to let it show, how the words taste like a lie.


End file.
